Strange Bedfellows

So there it is, as if Wessex hadn’t known what they’d wrought; people turning into animals, and perhaps a play to make everyone desperate enough to become bright in order to avoid it. If that was indeed the Voice’s tactic, Wessex privately thinks the Goddess has underestimated the people of Caido and their devotion to the Old Gods. Also, negative reinforcement and fear rarely works. So… what is the real game here? Other than to lift her children up, and right now, Wessex and Rexanna are the only ones really rising to the occasion.

“With Phoebe incapacitated, he is probably the best option. But I worry about relying on the two of you to do everything. If these amulets are the answer then great, but if not, we need to find ways to work around that. It’s a long week, emotionally and physically. And I can only imagine what it will be like this year, with the Blighted to worry about.” She pauses to mentally go back over what they’ve talked about.“I’m sorry, for what it’s worth.” She had apologized personally to Ronin, but perhaps apologies needed to go all around.

”Loren mentioned potentially summoning a siren to call the Blighted in. It sounds like our best option at this point.” She’s also worried about the damage done to the Blighted’s bodies in the cold… hypothermia and frostbite are still real threats even if their minds don’t register the danger. “We should leave some blankets and warm items out for them, on the edges of the Settlement. Not everyone has you looking after them. And not everyone can shift to creatures with fur or feathers.”

So much to do. So little time, it seems.

“Is there anything else either of you can think of that needs to be addressed?”

Jigano sat quietly, dragging in a breath to speak at the mention of the Blighted on Long Night - needing to make sure the warning was said aloud, even if everyone in the room already knew it. But Wessex's apology caught him off guard, and the spike of rage broke past his attempt to hold it in check, at least momentarily. "Would you--!" He started to snarl, half-rising from his seat before catching himself, landing back in the chair with a thump and grinding his teeth together to hold the rest of the words back. One hand gripped the edge of the table as if for dear life while the other fisted against his thigh, twisting a handful of tunic as he forced himself to breath through his nose, glaring down at the innocent cup of half-drunk tea before him. He gave a short, sharp shake of his head, half-apology of his own, half-acknowledgment that he had heard Wessex, but didn't dare trust himself to speak.

He only barely heard about Loren's plan, managing a tight nod of agreement to the idea to put out supplies for the blighted. Would it even matter? He thought about telling Wessex about the cold that sank into his skin always, even in front of a roaring fire and bundled in wool blankets, a chill no mortal heat could chase away. The cold outside meant little in comparison, and as the symptoms grew worse, there seemed less and less reason to care about things like cloaks and jackets when nothing helped anyways...

But if it made the people of the Settlement feel better, to think that they were helping, what was the harm?

If he'd had anything else to address, he had forgotten it in the struggle against the blight-sparked fury that still twisted through him. He only shook his head, tasting his own black blood from where he had bitten his tongue, and hoped that Remi understood his reticence for the iron self-control that it was, and not the rudeness that it likely appeared to be.

Я

"You may have to convince him of that, as the Queen. He will not take direction from me." The alchemist said with a sigh and slight shake of his head. Wessex likely doesn't know the history between the two ex-lovers (nor does she probably want to), but the time is long gone when Remi would promise the moon to try and help. Much more pragmatic, he knows if anyone can make Loren sit and do as he is told, it's Wessex.

Nodding vaguely at the queen's concerns about over extension, the alchemist stirs somewhat at the apology though not with nearly the same visceral reaction as Jigano. Looking up with exhausted eyes, he scrutinizes the Queen for a moment. "Did you know?" He asks, his tone entirely flat and without fight. It is simple curiosity now, the damage having already been done. "Sam says he did not and I believe him. But.." Well. Wessex was not Sam. "..did you?"

A siren? Tentatively the alchemist shook his head. "He can try I suppose, though I cannot see that working. Their minds are too far gone for that. But..if he wants to try." Producing a piece of parchment and a stub of charcoal, the alchemist noted down the need for blankets and clothing. "I will make crates of supplies that we can leave for them. Ronin has not really been in a state of mind to accept help when I have left it, but it does not take much for me to create these things, so I am happy to do it, even if they go unused."

Rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand, Remi merely shrugged. "Some have expression interest in staying at the monster hunter's guild as we already have some defenses and weaponry...others may be thinking they will spend their time at the Rathskeller again, and then Loren has also offered up the Launceleyn Manor. Do you...want to simply let everyone go where they will? Or should we all try and stay together?"

Even if it doesn’t matter, there’s the appearance to maintain. In lieu of actually being able to to do something the Queen believes must find a way to provide comfort where there is none to be found. Like right now, when Jigano’s rage is in full force and she has no idea what he was going to say. His outburst would likely be more scintillating than Phoebe’s, filled with words well-practiced and thought out, aiming to kill - not wound. Sitting back in her chair, Wessex crosses her hand across her stomach, elbows at the arm rests. “No,” she says, truthfully. “I didn’t. And I hope that in the same way I don’t hold anyone responsible for the Old Gods hatred of me, you don’t hold me responsible for my Goddess’s actions. This is their war. Time and time again we have been unwitting pawns.” Which is exactly what she’d told Ronin.

And then far more softy than the previous statement, she looks at Jigano and the way he’s doing his best (it is admirable, she will happily admit that) to keep from exploding and ruining the pow-wow. “If it would be better to say it, you can. I have… a thick skin.” A slight shrug. He doesn’t have to, but the offer is there, if he needs an outlet.

When Loren’s siren idea is partially shot down, Wessex sighs and leans forward again, putting her chin into her hands. It’s an unnatural position for her - but it betrays her frustration and her lack of ideas. “Please do. Thank you. I would rather us stay together. Or in two places that are close. If you're alright with the Guild, as a definite place, I am. Might ease some sense of claustrophobia. Then we can choose a second place from there if need be.” She’d heard the concerns about the Launceleyn Manor loud and clear, and even with the two of them taking down the magic walls, the ghost of Zariah still haunted the rooms. It’s fine. But she should probably tell Loren to focus his preparation efforts elsewhere.

He was grateful that Remi continued the conversation without him, moving things forward when Jigano himself had become a roadblock. The question about whether Wessex had known what she was doing when she walked the Greatwood was close enough to what he had almost exploded with that he actually focused on the answer. Did he believe her? It would be so easy not to, to ascribe all manner of perfidy and sin to the newest Queen, and the blight in him urged on those darker impulses, whispering that to trust was to be a fool, was to show weakness and lose face...

But for all the faults he found in her, he had never known or heard of her lying. He believed that Sam had been innocent of what he did, that Bastien - for all his shallow ways - would never have condoned something that would hurt a pre-Ascended Rexanna or his other friends, and if the Voice did not tell them, why would she have told Wessex? Not that he put the goddess above playing favorites, but the Ascended had to live with the rest of them, and Wessex was too canny a woman to poison her own well like this.

It already answered the question his anger had sought to sharpen and throw at her, but her offer of listening was unexpected enough to shake some of the rage loose and he finally swallowed it back. He released the table to reach for his tea, downing it in one swift gulp to wash down the thick blood that coated his tongue before he met her eyes again, tense but back in control for the moment. "I think," he said slowly, voice cold and words clipped, but carefully, almost painfully polite, "that going forward, we all need to be more careful of what the gods ask of us. The Voice has shown no love for anyone not Ascended, or she would have used her power to reverse what's happening to the Greatwood and the blighted. The old gods, likewise, may use this opportunity to stir up resentment and incite violence against the Ascended - for a second time, from what little we've gleaned from history. And after this, no one can claim ignorance for having their piety used as a pawn." He grimaced, thinking of his own promises to Ludo and the last prayer at the shrine. How much was he willing to give in his faith? And what was the line that he would not cross? Questions that would have to be answered in time, and that no one else could answer for him.

He wished the gods could sort out their problems amongst themselves and leave the mortals out of it, but the once-mortal Voice had gone and inserted herself into that pantheon uninvited and now, it seemed, they all had to deal with the fallout of that decision.

"I don't know if you'll be able to keep people out of the Temple," he suggested, wearier and more quietly as the anger continued to ebb. "It's less comfortable, but there are supplies in the Rathskeller, the Infirmary is already there and fully stocked, and the Shrine makes it easier for those who seek solace in prayer." His brow twitched as he tried to arch it at Wessex, but he couldn't find the energy. "Or those Ascended who need to feed during that week, which might happen if someone gets injured out patrolling the dark."

Я

To this point the alchemist could only wearily shrug. "As an Outlander I am not sure it is my place to lay blame one way or another. As you say, it is a war and not one that we have any real right to. But I will take you at your word, that you did this unknowingly." He said with a forced smile, if only because conjuring the real emotion was too much energy not because he didn't feel it. The point about being pawns though made Remi clench his jaw in agreement, hating how utterly true it was.

As for where to stay? The bard raised exceptional points. "I am happy to assist wherever we all decide to stay. Though the more of us there are in any one place will likely draw more of the creatures, it also gives us the chance to consolidate our defenses."

Everyone is fading as the ideas go ‘round in circles and the reality never seems to get any better.

As inclined as she is to argue about who and what the Voice has indicated she cares about, this is neither the time nor the place. Wessex, too, is tired. It’s time to wrap it up. “At this point, no one’s going to be happy with the decision, everyone has a reason for this place or that. Myself included.” She has to make a decision soon and everyone else needs to get on board.That’s kind of the point of a monarchy. They make decisions. They hopefully have advisors. They delegate responsibilites (and boy, has she fucking tried to delegate).

That was the root of the problem here, wasn’t it? Everyone wants to feel like they’ve been heard and their ideas acknowledged as good ones. Launceleyn Manor may not have been her finest suggestion, but she’s already moved on from it. They can’t be scattered again, it’s too much to try and protect - of that, she is certain.

She nods to Remi in thanks. “Let’s revisit the need for a second place closer to LongNight. The Temple has its inherent pros, but I still worry about being able to close it off.” One door left ajar, one person thinking they’re the exception (and they’re always the exception)... and then they’ll argue that doing so brought the Sparkbird… failing to realize that that is the extreme exception, not the norm. But what if…?

The hard decisions. That’s what she said she’d do. The rules that need to be followed. The rules that can be broken.

With a shake of her head, Wessex rises and offers a weak smile to the two men. “Please take care of yourselves. My door is always open.”


{Fin, unless yall need to stop her for something}

Unfortunately, they all had good points about where to stay during Long Night. There was no single perfect place that made sense for everyone, nowhere safe beyond doubt. There would be those who insisted on staying in their own homes, as their families had done for generations, and then there were the ones who wanted to patrol the night and guard what they could, who would need to be going in and out of whatever shelter they chose to stay in. It did make the suggestion of a second place make more sense - one for those who knew the risks and planned to fight back, and one for those who were noncombatants in this lethal little war against the dark, and those who would tend and guard them.

As Wessex said, however, it could be revisited closer to Long Night.

Jigano nodded weary acquiescence to the Queen's suggestion, genuinely surprised at the smile Wessex gave them both. It was the first time he'd seen such an expression on her face, and he blinked in shock as she made her exit. Giving a slow shake of his head he turned to offer Remi a small, tight smile - but still, a smile. "Thank you for hosting," he said quietly. "And... for your patience." With the bard and his blightrage and all that came with it. "Get some rest tonight if you can."

He rose unsteadily, reaching for his walking stick with shaking hands before showing himself out.

Я

Though Remi didn't know enough to appreciate politics, it didn't go over his head that the queen knew when to stop beating a dead horse, even if the horse in question here didn't even know it was dead yet. "That sounds like a good idea to me."

It wasn't a lack of politeness that kept Remi from walking the queen to the door, but weariness accompanied by the absolutely certain knowledge that of anyone, Wessex needed no escort. Not from him anyways. "Mine as well. Thank you for including me in this." He said as she receded.

"And you." He returned softly to the bard, Remi's smile much easier and more freely given than the Sage's, but still the effort was appreciated. The alchemist knew well just how fleeting and difficult those smiles could be.